by Tammy Salyer
“What’s what like?”
“Where you come from, Vinnr. Is it like here?”
She thought a moment. “It is. And it isn’t. No one has wings, for instance. And we definitely don’t have those.” When he glanced back to see what she meant, she pointed to Tekl and Juz.
“Churss cave snouzes? Do you have Churss?”
“No.” She shook her head emphatically. “The closest type of stone we have that has been touched by our Verity is the ore of Mount Omina and the Fenestrii. And there are only five of those.”
“It’s the same here. That’s true in all the Cosmos, Deespora says.”
“Yes, that’s right. I’ve been a student in the Conservatum to become a Knight Corporealis like my parents since I was twelve turns—longer really, if you count having been raised by the Knights themselves. The Fenestrii and Scrylle lore are part of our lessons. But, of course, no one but a Knight can look in the Scrylle. That’s where I learned to speak Elder Veros too, the first gift of the Verities to their people.”
“What we’re speaking now? We call it Varitika, and everyone in the Cosmos must know it, because even the Minothians all speak it.”
Earlier, when he’d whispered to the Churss, it had sound like words she didn’t understand, not spoken in Elder Veros, and she’d overheard other Zhallahs speaking in the same unusual tongue. That must be the language of the Zhallah people. Curious why they spoke differently if they knew Elder Veros, or Varitika, she asked him, “Why don’t the Zhallahs always speak the first language?”
She saw his shoulders and even his wings stiffen, and she wanted to take back the question. But he said, “The Minothians don’t know our speech. It makes it easier to…keep things from them when we need to.”
She let the conversation go quiet after that, feeling a deep unease in her stomach at the thought that an entire people spoke their own language for little more reason than because they needed an advantage over an enemy.
Salukis said nothing more for a while, either. But eventually, his curious nature came back. “We don’t have that here, a Conservatum,” he said. “Our Archon Order is gone, and the Everlight can’t replace them.”
“Why not? Does your creator need no guardians for her vessel?”
“It’s nothing like that.”
He was silent again, and Isemay sensed there was something he feared to tell her. She wondered if she should press the issue. It wasn’t really her concern, though distantly she’d been curious about Archon Raamuzi. She seemed to be unique among people, with no vessel to protect.
She let the silence linger as long as she could, but this time her own curiosity about his tight-lipped response overcame her. What if whatever he was withholding held some clue or detail that could aid her own needs? What would a Knight do? Would they dig for more answers?
Eventually, she said, “What do you mean?”
“…Mura would clip my wings if she knew I was telling a stranger this.”
“What does it matter if I know? Who would I tell?” she urged.
He stopped and turned toward her with a smirk that she found to her surprise oddly…cute? Its playing-with-fire twist was like looking into a mirror.
“It’s the reason the Archons split and the Minothians and Zhallahs are divided. During our last Equifulcrum, some of the Archons made a compact with the Menace, Balavad the Battgjaldic Verity. All except Deespora. This was three hundred years ago, and Arc Rheunos was suffering a wasting plague that had killed many thousands.”
“The plague you thought my mum and I had?”
His smile turned sheepish. “Yes. And, uh, I apologize for my hasty accusation.”
His tone was so sincere that any lingering resentment she may have had instantly dissolved, and she shrugged it off. “What was the compact?”
He began walking again and spoke over his shoulder. “Deespora tells us the Archons were angry with the Everlight for allowing so much suffering and death, and for doing nothing to stop it, no matter how much they pleaded. Balavad came to us then—us being the united Arc Rheunosians, before we split—and promised the Archons he could cure the plague if the Everlight was sapped of her power. Deespora was alone in refusing him, but in their desperation the rest of the Archons overruled her. They did something, something Deespora won’t speak of, to the Everlight’s vessel at Cosmoculous Tower.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s in Minoth near Everlight Hall, the tower where the vessel resides, and at the top is a Churss crystal as big as, well, it’s massive. At the Equifulcrum, when the moons align with the daystar, their light shines through the crystal and…something.”
“Something?”
“Some great event that only an Archon can fully comprehend. Anyway, that’s how the Archons managed to take control of the vessel. Whatever the Menace showed them required the Cosmoculous, and they somehow trapped the Everlight in her vessel. It’s not something I really understand. Afterward, Deespora stole the Scrylle and the last Fenestros and fled here, to the Churss, with as many of our people as would follow her, knowing she could not fight the rest of the Archons or the Menace.”
Chills dotted the back of Isemay’s neck. This story sounded so familiar…Balavad’s visitation to Vinnr, a realm that wasn’t his own, his plots to subvert Vaka Aster…
Her mum had not told her much about what was happening in Vinnr in their quick flight to Mount Omina before being transported here, but what she had now reminded Isemay closely of what Salukis was saying. She wanted to hear more. “I don’t understand how you can trap a Verity. Do you know why Mithlí can’t escape?”
He shook his head. “I can’t grasp it either, I’m no Archon. Not that I wouldn’t like to be, maybe. But the worst part was that Akeeva was supposed to be the next vessel, and after the Archons turned against the Everlight, she’s been pretending she is. The Minothian people know none of what the Archons did, and Akeeva and Tuzhazu now rule Minoth. They’re lying to the people and have been since the Equifulcrum. They’ve even made the Minothians believe it’s the Zhallahs who caused the plague and that we ran away before the Archons could punish us. We are all exiles…”
Even the histories of Vinnr she’d studied had no tales of such treachery, and it shocked Isemay to hear that a people could turn so thoroughly not only against each other but against their Verity as well. She thought about what he’d said, the similarities to Vinnr’s current crisis. As it had been happening, she’d thought it was all balderdash—because how could a Verity be shackled? It seemed impossible. But she wasn’t a Knight, not yet anyway. What did she know?
Something else came to mind. “Then where did the plague really come from? Does it still afflict people?”
“We have to be careful. The Waste still strikes occasionally. Deespora has even wondered if it came from somewhere else, outside Arc Rheunos. We don’t know its cause or how to cure it.”
“Salukis, why do the Minothians take Zhallah people captive? What happens to them?”
“I’m not sure. No one has ever come back from Minoth. But they are not harmed,” he added hastily.
“But how do you…” Isemay let the words wither. She didn’t want to scratch at a wound that was already too deep.
He understood her question anyway. “How do we know? Because the people of Arc Rheunos value life. We live in peace with all living creatures, causing no harm, including to each other. Even the Archons’ compact with Balavad was to prevent further death: caging the Everlight in exchange for a cure for the Waste. Akeeva and the other Archons only took the Menace’s offer in order to save lives. Why would they turn against that law now?”
Isemay fell quiet, considering all he’d said as she continued hunting for the memory keeper.
“Oh look!” Salukis said and hopped upward, using his wings to thrust him into the brush beside the trail. “Wait there, be back in a moment.”
“Do you see it?” she asked breathlessly, but his voice had trailed off.
He retu
rned quickly with a pouch full of thumb-sized deep red berries. “Govels,” he said. “Have one. They’ll fill you up fast, but they might make you need to…er, don’t eat too many. Even though they are delicious.”
Disappointment at the false hope he’d triggered swelled in her chest. She almost refused his offer but stopped herself. It would be petulant. Besides, she was still hungry.
After she took one, no sooner had the berry been squished between her teeth and its juice splashed her tongue than she completely agreed with him. They were the best thing she’d ever tasted. Before she’d swallowed the first, she was reaching for the second.
“They might affect you differently, you being from Vinnr. Just keep that in mind,” he warned ominously.
When she realized what he was implying, she stopped herself after the second one. He was right. She hadn’t considered what affect food from another realm might have. As if the suggestion itself were infectious, she felt a tug and roil in her belly. “We better keep going.”
They’d covered about half the distance to the edge of the Churss, and Isemay had fought herself every step from either slowing to a crawl so she could scan every blade of grass, twig, and stone, or speeding toward the border where she suspected she’d dropped the pendant and possibly missing it. It could have fallen off anywhere, but the dragørfly stone was heavy. She’d have noted the change as its weight fell from her neck while walking, she was sure. But she and Mura had been seated at the edge of the Churss, and it might not have been as noticeable. Perhaps she’d simply misconnected the clasp that held it and it had fallen then. She held out hope like a shield, willing this possibility to be the right one.
After a while, her eyes began to unfocus as weariness made its presence known. To keep herself sharp, she decided to keep Salukis talking and asked, “If Deespora is an Archon and she has the Scrylle, why don’t you all just confront the other Archons in Minoth and demand they let your people come back to Maerria? Surely Deespora can work strong wystics with the artifacts, at least strong enough to protect a…a delegation.”
“Sure,” he merely said.
When he didn’t continue, she pressed, “So…?”
“Many of the Zhallahs want to do exactly that. But Deespora refuses. She says she tried to reason with Akeeva in the past, and it came to nothing. She will do anything to avoid a confrontation with the Minothians, but many of us think it’s just delaying the inevitable. Maerria and the Churss is our home, but so is the rest of Arc Rheunos. It’s like being in prison…well, you heard the discussion in the Circle.”
“Mm-hmm. Can’t some of you go there, like by stealth, and try to rescue the captured Zhallahs? I mean, what would Deespora do? How could she punish you for saving your own people?”
“Because of the labyrinth.”
“The what?”
“The Tyrn Mountains are vast, steep, with unpredictable weather. Dangerous, basically. Everlight Hall and the lands of Minoth are in a valley deep in the mountains. Depending on the season, it could take a month or more to traverse them, and there’s no way to get a large caravan through at all. The only way to Minoth is through the Aktoktos Gate. But between the gate and Minoth, a labyrinth of stone channels is cut into the mountains themselves. No one in Maerria knows how to get through it but Deespora. And they are heavily guarded.”
“But you can fly.”
“Sentries everywhere, day and night, and they carry nets and water cannons.”
“Water cannons?”
“We can’t fly if our wings are wet. If we’re netted or wetted while in the air, we’ll fall just as fast and hard as anything land-bound. We’d never get enough people past the sentries to do any good, and carrying back those who’ve been captured, who maybe can’t fly, would make us even easier to catch. Believe me, we’ve talked it through.”
“Of course,” she said, troubled by how tied the Zhallahs’ hands were from rescuing their own. She wondered who the “we” he spoke of were.
“Well,” he said, shifting their talk to a new topic, which she found she was glad of. “The good news is we’ll be at the border soon. The bad news is we haven’t found your pendant yet. But it’ll be there. I’m sure of it.”
“Me too,” she said, trying not to notice how unconvinced her voice sounded to her ears.
Chapter Eleven
Tulla was dead by morning.
The Deathless Guards had remained with Symvalline in the healers chamber all night, watching silently, chillingly still. She’d done her best to ignore them while keeping watch over the girl and doing anything she could to ease her. The child hadn’t awakened at all, not even long enough for Symvalline to provide her with more of the green powder the wagon driver had given her in secret on their journey to Everlight Hall. Now, as dawn light filtered in through high windows, Symvalline teetered on the edge of exhaustion, not of the body but the heart, the pain of a child’s death, even a child she hardly knew, far deeper than any wound she’d ever suffered herself.
When Archon Tuzhazu arrived some short time later, he said nothing to her as he walked to the deathbed and looked into Tulla’s face, which, Symvalline noted with gratitude, was now peaceful.
“Her mother will be informed,” he said flatly.
Standing quietly to the side, conscious of staying out of his reach, she tested the limits of what she could imply in order to pry more information from him. “I wish there could have been some way to avoid this tragedy. The cure to the plague itself could perhaps lie within the Scrylle.”
Tuzhazu’s voice was low, grating as he spoke. “Do you really think we didn’t look? When the Waste swarmed throughout Arc Rheunos years ago, what do you think the Archons did? Run? Hide? Lock ourselves into a fortress with the vessel and ignore what was happening to our people?”
The simmering anger in his tone was a storm, but it was still on the horizon. She had some time still to pry further. “I’m sure you did everything you could within the limits of your duty to protect Mithlí’s vessel. But if not even your wysticism could affect this disease, why does Akeeva consent to you holding me here? I’m no more powerful than any of you.”
As his eyes wandered around the room, probably searching for hints that she might have been planning something clandestine, he answered, “She is a fool who still wants to believe this is a natural disease, and still too blinded by grief to see the truth. But that will change at the Equifulcrum. Arc Rheunos will benefit from a strong leader again when Akeeva’s mantle passes to me, and I’ll do what’s necessary to ensure Arc Rheunos is never threatened by devastation again. Or is subject to the whims of an uncaring Verity.”
She had an idea of what the Equifulcrum was but needed him to be specific. Exactly how long did she have to escape? “The Equifulcrum?” she asked.
He glanced to the high windows. “Syzygy is in ten days. And my army should be here by then as well.” He caught her eye and smiled wryly. “When I was informed the starpath had opened, I thought your arrival was the army promised me. Your coming here is more than just a curiosity to me.”
No more than it is to me, she thought. Then: Army? Looking to Tulla, she asked, “What will you do with her body?”
“Burn her.”
Symvalline gasped.
He seemed to repress a grin. “At night where the celestial lights can’t be sullied by the stain of the Waste.”
“But her mother…” she whispered in horror.
“She’s lucky she doesn’t receive the same treatment.” His dispassionate response was like a bucket of freezing water thrown in her face. She knew his type. Not just uncaring but unwilling to imagine a need for sympathy or care. People like him were dangerous. Much too dangerous to lead a kingdom.
“And what shall I do now?” she asked, trying not to show the wrenching pain she felt thinking of Agatha.
“Akeeva will not come to the healing chambers, so there’s no need to keep you here.”
She braced herself for whatever foul dungeon he had in mind, bu
t what he said next surprised her.
“But that dart you stuck me with—that, I found interesting. Something like that would aid greatly in my efforts.”
Seeing what he was getting at, she hedged. “But your materials are new to me. To make the agent in my darts, or something similar, I would have to be more familiar with the composition and matter in this realm.”
“You have a wealth of books and materials to work with, and ten days to become familiar.”
“And if I create the substance, you’ll release me to find my daughter?”
“If you make it, and it’s effective, you’ll see her again.”
He left her alone then, sending an awaiting guard from outside to retrieve Tulla’s body. Tears slid down Symvalline’s cheeks as the girl was taken. The guard, not one of the Deathless, at least had the decency to wrap the child’s body gently in a shroud and carry her away with genuine sadness in her eyes.
The two Deathless returned, glaring at her with their disconcerting eyes. They neither slept nor seemed to need to eat—though that must be impossible. She wondered what malignant wysticism made them into such inanimate nightmare creatures.
Wishing to sleep herself, but knowing she could not, Symvalline approached a shelf and pulled a random book down. As she feigned reading through it, her thoughts whirled.
Then again, it was no mystery what was creating the Deathless. This was Balavad’s doing. For some reason, the malice-bent Verity had Tuzhazu doing his bidding. Balavad must be providing him not only with the means to transform Arc Rheunosians into these Deathless ghouls, but also the means to spread the plague in whatever strategic vector Tuzhazu chose. Did that mean Balavad had brought the plague originally? And what army had Tuzhazu meant? Was he not making his own army with this vile Deathless toxin? What “efforts” was he referring to? Was Salukis the Zhallah correct that Tuzhazu wanted to destroy his people? But why?
Endless questions marched through her mind, many of them involving the current false vessel’s role. Was Akeeva part of whatever plot Balavad and Tuzhazu were bringing to boil? Unlike Tuzhazu, she had seemed to retain some sense of compassion and empathy. She seemed to not know Tuzhazu was the plague-bringer everyone feared, or rather the plague-spreader, as Balavad seemed to be the one bringing it.